My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her

MIREYA’S POV

I didn’t realize my legs had given out until Sera grabbed my arms, anchoring me against her.

“Whoa,” she gasped, staggering a little under my weight. “Mireya, are you okay?”

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman—the witch who had tethered me to Damian, who had ensured he could hunt me down no matter how far I fled.

What was she doing here? How long had she been here?

If she was here, did that mean Damian was close?

Gods, had he sent her to find me?

I gripped Sera’s arm hard enough for my nails to pierce her skin, but she didn’t flinch. She just kept looking at me with concern, her grip firm around me.

“Wait, I recognize you,” the woman said, uncrossing her legs and standing.

A crease formed between her brows as she studied me like an insect pinned to a board. “Where do I know you from?”

I let out a disbelieving scoff. “Goddess, how many poor souls have you cursed that you don’t remember me?”

Her eyes widened, and I saw the memory replay in them. She raised a hand to her mouth and whispered in horror, “Mireya.”

Sera, ever so keen, glanced between both of us, and a moment later, the pieces slid into place.

Guilt filled her eyes as she turned to me, but before she could say anything, I pulled myself out of her grasp.

“Mireya—”

There it was: that rush of panic, igniting all my nerves, sending my heart into overdrive, filling my lungs and leaving no room for oxygen.

I clawed at my neck—at the phantom leash tightening around it.

If she was here...

My heart gave a painful lurch.

Damian would find me. He would drag me back to that cage. I would live the rest of my life in the brutal tug of war between my heart and my sanity.

“Mireya.” Sera’s eyes were wide with panic as she reached for me.

I was already stumbling backward, my hand fumbling for the door handle.

“Mireya, wait!”

But I was gone, feet pounding the tile, heart hammering as I ran and ran and ran.

***

I’d come to Nightfang with next to nothing, but in just a few weeks, I’d been given clothes, shoes, makeup, even a Kindle.

It took me all of five minutes to stuff them all into a garbage bag I’d grabbed from the kitchen.

As I rushed to the door, a sudden burst of laughter tripped up my steps.

I turned to the window; the sound had come from below—a child’s laughter, light and carefree. Safe.

Nightfang was safe. At least it had been.

But like it had invaded my mind and sleep, Damian’s influence had infiltrated my sanctuary. I would take my chances out in the world rather than sit here twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to storm in and whisk me away.

Just because some deranged, uncontrollable part of me missed him didn’t mean I ever wanted to return to the prison of his presence.

So I stiffened my spine, tightened my grip on my meager possessions, and opened the door.

I’m not proud of the sound that came out of me—a mortifying cross between a squeal and a choked gasp.

I’m equally not proud of how I staggered backward, not stopping until I was pressed against the wall on the other side of the room.

If I were a cartoon, the imprint of my heart thumping out of my chest would be visible for the witch to see.

“It’s not what you think, I swear.”

It was such a cliché, mundane line that I might have laughed if fear’s fist wasn’t so tight around my throat.

The witch was on the other side of the door, her hands up in the air as if to show me she bore no weapons.

But I knew better. She didn’t need a blade or a bullet to cause harm.

She was beautiful, almost ethereally so. Dappled sunlight turned her hair to a fiery halo and made her eyes shimmer gold.

I imagined her beauty was another weapon in her arsenal. I wondered how many poor souls had fallen victim to her.

I eyed the open window next to me. I was on the third floor, but a rose bush lay below. I might sustain a few cuts and bruises, but surely I would survive the jump.

“Oh, please don’t do that.”

My gaze snapped back to her, and this time, the sound that came out of me was more of a snarl. “Stay out of my head, witch.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t do anything. It was pretty obvious where your head was at.”

She took a tentative step into the room, and I pressed harder against the wall. Gods, it had been so long since I felt fear this potent. It bled into my veins and fogged my vision.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Mireya.” Her voice was gentle, soothing, as if she were coaxing a frightened animal—which I guess I was.

“You’ve already hurt me,” I spat.

She nodded. “And I’m so, so sorry. My mother—” She shook her head, a flash of pain tightening her face.

“It was an instruction from Catherine. I never questioned her the way I should have; I thought it was for the best. I never wanted to acknowledge the...evil she put out in the world. I was a puppet, a willing one. I put on her stupid disguises and did her every bidding.”

“And D-Damian?” I whispered.

She shook her head again. “I have absolutely no ties to Damian Rooke. I was sent on an assignment. I completed it. That was all.”

I took my first breath since she came into the room, but it was thin and shallow.

Could I possibly believe her? This could very well be a ploy to make me drop my guard; after all, it would be easier to take me docile than to take me kicking and screaming.

“She’s telling the truth, Mireya,” Sera said, appearing beside the witch.

It was ridiculous, downright absurd, how much I’d come to trust her. The mere sight of her loosened the choking grip around my neck, and I took a deep, long breath.

“Evelyn’s not going to hurt you,” Sera went on, stepping further into the room.

I didn’t move as she came closer, didn’t flinch when she took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“She saved my mother. She saved me.”

Sera smiled, tender and warm. It reminded me of the sunshine that spilled through my windows back home, coaxing me awake after a good night’s sleep.

“And she can save you, too.”

I frowned, glancing between Sera and the witch. “...save me?”

The witch nodded. “I can remove the tracking spell.”

My eyes widened, my pulse tripping. “What?”

She took another hesitant step into the room, her hands still up.

“I can remove the spell,” she repeated. “I can do you one better and replace it with a cloaking spell. Damian Rooke will never find you.”

It was like telling a paraplegic that they could walk again, that they could run a marathon if they wished.

Too good to be true.

I looked at Sera—the person I trusted, the person who had pulled me out of hell. Surely she wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble just to put me in harm’s way again.

“She can,” Sera confirmed.

I swallowed, forcing the lump of fear down.

It didn’t disappear; it settled in my gut, waiting for the right time to surge back up.

I looked at the witch again. She offered what she must have thought was a reassuring smile, but the only thing keeping me from vaulting out of the window was Sera’s grip on my hand.

“Please let me make it right,” Evelyn said. “Let me free you.”

Free.

I didn’t think that was something I could ever truly be, spell or not.

But maybe this was the first step, the first knot to loosen, the first chance to untether my soul from the monster the Moon Goddess had bound me to.

If I could be released from the tracking spell, if I could be shielded by the cloaking spell, if there was a chance I could sleep through the night without this insane longing for literal destruction...

“Okay,” I breathed, sagging against the wall. “Okay.”